Wayward
by EboniChadeau
Summary: Adopted by a single woman & brought into a high class family, fighting to gain the acceptance of her mother's husband. She thought that nothing more could go wrong. On the night her mother died she was abducted & held for ransom...that was just the start.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The man my mother married never liked me, never accepted me. And for some strange reason he liked my Mom. He liked her enough to marry her and take her away into the States of America, to a city called Memphis of the state of Tennessee. For the sake of her happiness he tolerated me, but I was never allowed to call him Father. Never.

He was an important man, very important. Whenever I saw him he was always wearing a suit. And when it was winter, he had a tailored coat over that suit. We didn't live in a mansion, but it felt like one to me. There was even a butler and a maid that tended to everything in the home. I learned quickly at the young age of eight that I was not important to him, and that I was to refer to him as the Master or Master Rhenahlds. At first, I couldn't understand why. Why did he like Mom and not me? What about me offended him so? Was it because I was adopted? Or because my skin was olive and Mom's was fair? Since I couldn't comprehend, I feared him.

The maid, Tessa, was the one who cared for me while Mom was away. She had black hair that reached her shoulders, brown eyes and she stood just passed five feet. She didn't dress like the stereotypical maid, but still wore skirts and an apron when it came to cooking or cleaning.

The butler, Yuan, also didn't fit the stereotypical appearance of butlers. He had a full head of blond hair kept modestly short, green eyes and he stood barely over six feet; a few inches taller than the Master. He wore slacks that were more relaxed than the suits the Master wore, and over the tailored shirts he wore vests that had a different sense of character to them. Since coming to the states he's always been the one to bus Mom and me to where we needed to be.

At first, Mom stayed with me when the Master was gone away on business. This lasted until I was thirteen. And then, I guess she thought me old enough to start taking care of myself without her needing to be with me all the time. So she became distant, spending nearly all of her time with him.

Yuan and Tessa were eventually the only ones who accompanied me during meals. It was about this time that I became determined to gain the Master's acceptance. I worked hard in school, enrolling in advance classes, participating in after school extra curricular activities like debate and chess, and taking up violin. Tessa and Yuan taught me etiquette and the ways of small talk for the rare occasions that I was allowed to attend a business event with Mom. In high school I took up tennis in the summer, and swimming in the winter. I did all this and more so he would call me his daughter.

As such, I had very little friends. I could not invite them to my home, or prison, and I was not allowed to go to their homes. I milked as much as I could out of the many practice meetings for the many groups I was involved in, and despite that, all my relationships were shallow. Though I excelled, I was never the top, which was always very discouraging. He expected excellence, and since I could never achieve the top place, I was never good enough.

Mom eventually became pregnant when I was just a few months over sixteen. He was very pleased. I don't believe I could ever call him ecstatic or thrilled about anything. Three months in another maid was hired strictly to attend to Mom like a hand maid. Tessa and Yuan had long ago filled in as my parents, my relationship with my Mom transforming into association by common ground. I talked to her in the same manner that I spoke with him, and it was in that emotionless way that I congratulated her. The times when she allowed me to hug her, and we laughed and giggled and enjoyed each others company became like memories of a distant dream. I nearly burst into tears and threw myself into her arms. Nearly. The long years had forced upon me a self restraint so strict that it would not yield to my stronger emotions.

Since she was pregnant she didn't accompany him as much as she used to. So I saw more of her around the house. We ate meals together more frequently and spoke of my school achievements. She was always very proud of how hard I worked and that was cause enough to make me beam with a small amount of self pride.

My junior year of high school was upon me when her pregnancy took a turn for the worst. I don't know what happened, but she fell ill and did not recover. Her skin turned paler than usual and she stayed in bed. A few doctors paid house visits to check on her, and because I was still involved in extra curricular activities I was unable to be by her side. No one would tell me what was wrong or how she was doing, not even her hand maid. Tessa was not allowed near her. The words 'complicated pregnancy' somehow floated about and that made me worry even more. Was she going to be alright? What about the baby?

One week into school she went into labor in the late hours of the night. A nasty rain storm had chosen three hours before to pour its miseries in buckets onto the ground. Mom's hand maid, I found out much time later, was actually a trained midwife. Even though she showed confidence in herself as she brought materials in and out of Mom's room, I felt uneasy. He was away, something that I thought very inconsiderate of him. As the unease morphed into anxiety, I put on a robe and harvested together enough determination to push past Mom's maid to be by her side. When I grasped her hand, the blood drained from her face.

And that was the moment the maid called for an ambulance. Shock took over as I remained kneeling at her side, clasping her hand between my two, not letting go until the paramedics and EMTs pried her from me. And then I let the tears flow. I fought them to get into the ambulance with her, but they were stronger. Her maid was allowed in with them, but not me. I surprised myself when I became furious, my fists balled in a very unladylike display. Drenched in the rain I watched the flashing lights ride away into the depths of the miserable rain, sirens blaring their awful song.

Tessa put a raincoat over my shoulders while Yuan held an umbrella over my head. I turned to her to see that she was also wearing a raincoat over her night clothes, and was guiding me with her hand to the car, handing me a pair of boots. Yuan, similarly dressed, climbed into the driver's seat. I understood then that we were going to the hospital. We were going to be with Mom.

Everything became a blur. Tessa accompanied me into the hospital and had enough calm to ask where Mom had been taken. I heard the ER for an emergency C-section. Yuan met up with just in time for the three of to be forced to agonizingly wait in a dreary room steeped in anxiety. For what felt like hours I waited, too stressed to sleep.

I suppose someone had the decency to call the Master. It took him too long to show up at the hospital, two dark suited, male attendants following him in; one with a phone and a brief case, the other just looking forward with a stoic expression on his face. All three were decorated with drops of rain that could not penetrate the fabric of their expensive clothes. The Master went to the nurses' counter to inquire about Mom, and just when he had been told as I had, and had since forgotten, a surgeon pushed passed the heavy emergency doors, a very very heavy and grim expression on his face.

Mom had died on the table from complications of internal bleeding. The baby, premature, was alive, barely, and in intensive care. He offered to take the Master to see the baby, and when I stood up to follow, he turned and glared at me as though everything that had gone wrong was my fault. When I stepped back in alarm, my left arm raised, he turned on his heal and followed the surgeon.

Those same doors were slow so to stand still again, it was as if my heart had stopped.

Another surgeon, a woman, pushed through those dividing doors and zeroed in on me, standing stupidly there, my arm still raised, the rest of me a wet mess. She put her hand on my shoulder and walked me back to the chairs in the waiting room. She spoke a lot, but I heard nothing. And then "Would you like to say goodbye?" I nodded numbly. She took hold of my hand and gently guided me into another room that wasn't behind those ungracious doors.

She was on a metal table, a white cloth covering her body, leaving only her face exposed. She looked peacefully asleep, and I would have been fooled if not for the ghastly paleness of her skin. I knelt at her side, touching her cheek with my right knuckle. "Mom, oh Mom. Why? Why did you have to go and leave me like this?" I whispered. And then I did something that I was never to do. "Mom, now Albert will hate me and surely drive me away from our home."

The woman touched my shoulder again, indicating that it was time to go. I kissed Mom's cheek, stroked her soft, light brown hair for the last time. "Goodbye, Mom."

Out in the waiting room Yuan and Tessa stood waiting. The attendant with the stoic expression stated that he was to accompany me on the way back home. The other attendant was handling paperwork. I sighed, noticing for the first time how wet and cold I was. Even worse, I realized how much more alone I felt. I thought it was bad when Mom was alive and distant from me, but now she was dead, forever gone, forever unreachable.

The drive back took an eternity, but Yuan suddenly slowed the car just before we were to pull into the driveway. The front door was smashed in, ripped free from the hinges. Glass shards peppered the walkway. The attendant riding in the passenger's seat pulled a gun from somewhere on his person and commanded that we stay inside the car which Yuan had stopped several feet from the driveway, killing the engine immediately after the attendant opened the door. He walked into the house, looking around corners to be sure that he wasn't walking into an ambush. I trembled in the car, unsure if it was caused by fear or from the cold. Likely both.

Yuan unbuckled himself and followed the attendant in despite Tessa's protest. He knew a significant amount of self defense, and like Tessa, I wished he had chosen to stay with us.

Several minutes later, the cacophony of the pouring rain couldn't effectively mask the sound of successive gunshots that pierced my ears. As I clenched my eyes shut and covered my ears, a stranger had clandestinely circled around the massive home, headed directly for the opened car. With the thundering rain and my attempts to block out all other sounds, I didn't hear him coming. I wasn't even aware of his presence until I felt Tessa struggling and heard her screaming next to me. The instant I opened my eyes I saw her being yanked from her seat through the open door by a tall, broad shouldered man wearing dark clothes and a dark mask over his face. Before I could even reach over to help her fight, I was yanked from behind by another similar man and ripped from my seat through the door. The only thing left in the car were puddles and cut seat belts. And that was the last thing I saw before a blow to the back of my head knocked me out.

When I next awoke my head throbbed. My blurry eyes were barely able to tell me that I was in a small room and a figure was standing against a small table. The rest of my body told me that duct tape was over my mouth and wrapped around my head. Thick, heavy ropes pinned my arms to my sides and my torso to a chair, reaching across my breasts and down to my waist. The robe and nightdress I was wearing were torn and covered in mud, the raincoat and boots gone. There was blood on the left side of my face, but I didn't know if it was fresh, or if the water in my hair had kept it from drying.

Tessa was no where to be seen.

I struggled to remain calm and to breathe deeply, difficult to do when the ropes were so tight. Another smaller structured man walked into the room on a cell phone, blabbing something about ransom money and the welfare of a captive. It was a heated discussion, causing the man to wave his free arm about wildly. My attempts to remain calm were dashed away when he suddenly caught my eye and then slapped his hand viciously across my face. Tears stung as they dripped down from my eyes and before I had fully registered what had happened, he struck me again, this time wrenching a muffled cry of pain from my throat.

I then understood that it was me being held for ransom and that the demand was being met by indifference. My captors were infuriated no doubt by the Master's uncooperative response. I don't know how long the time had been from when I was slapped to when the man on the phone slammed it on the table, rendering it useless.

Just like I had suddenly become useless.

"Apparently mister Rhenahlds doesn't have a daughter," spoke the man who had had the phone.

The other man scowled deeply, his arms folded across his broad chest. "What are we going to do with her now?" he indicated to me with his head.

The other man had a finger wrapped around his chin as he thought, his other arm supporting the elbow. As he thought, I prayed for Yuan or Tessa to come rescue me. I prayed for anyone to come rescue me. I didn't want to die. And I didn't want to be subjected to torture before I died. I prayed with every aspect of my soul, my chest on fire with intense fear. Fresh tears dribbled down my cheeks, seeping into the nano space between the adhesive and my skin. The smaller man caught my eye again and slapped me so hard the chair fell over. My head reeled from the pain so strong that I danced with the white stars, on the brink of blacking out again.

Someone please, come rescue me!

A feeling like acid began to burn inside my face, gradually traveling down to my throat, to my chest, to my stomach, and so forth. I couldn't figure out what it was, thinking that it was the last blow to the head that had caused it. The bigger man yanked me up by my hair and set both me and the chair upright, it's four legs and my bare feet on the cold floor. The ropes were cut free, but I had little time to react before I was thrown clear from the chair onto the floor once more.

That was the beginning of a beating that I would endure for an hour. And when I could no longer struggle to remain conscious through the pain of each blow combined with the growing acid-like sensation consuming my nerves, I blacked out.

I must have irritated the smaller man by blacking out because when I woke up again my wrists were handcuffed to a chain nailed above my head with a massive nail, the tape still over my mouth. I hadn't even the strength to twitch any muscle in my numb arms or legs. My eyes had no tears to shed, my mouth had no moisture that would help me swallow, my lungs denied the air needed to keep me coherent, not that I could any time soon. Bile churned in my stomach and I would have vomited had there been anything in it despite the tape. I was bruised, battered and bleeding, very likely to have suffered a concussion, and the only thing I could do was dread whatever would come next. And perhaps, pray.

I could smell the alcohol just before it was brought to my face. The tape suddenly ripped away to be replaced by something pressed against my lips, indicating that I was to open my mouth. When I didn't, a hand plugged my nose until I did. The burning taste of the alcohol seared my tongue and throat as it went down. As if I wasn't already incoherent my head spun faster, and I wanted to puke that much stronger. I suppose they wanted to make me limp like a rag doll, because then the touching came. The violating, exploring touching that pulled and pushed at my clothes layer by layer. I could feel both men and tried to shut them out of my mind, tried to black out again, tried anything to get away from what was happening, begging for strength to fight them off. And while I begged, a raging electrical shock from whereabouts unknown violently constricted all of my major muscles as I screamed as hard as I could, writhing uncontrollably with an energy that I hadn't had moments before.

My skin burned. My wrists banged against the handcuffs. My lungs wouldn't take in enough air. My back slammed repeatedly against the wall. My head jerked back and forth. I could feel several of my bones breaking. A white light was the only thing I could see. And through my own screams, I could hear the confused shouting from the sordid mouths of my would be rapers.

With whatever was left of me that wasn't being assailed, I reached out for anything, anyone, for any amount of strength. Somehow, I found a bit and I latched onto it as hard as I could. I could then feel it trickling into my body, slowly pushing back the pain, slowly numbing my nerves. My head fell limply forward, my chin not quite touching my chest. My body stilled, hanging defeated against the wall. I felt strange, but it was better than all of what I had been feeling before. I could sense their gazes on me. I could sense their disgust.

And then as the darkness of sweet unconsciousness drifted over me like the incoming tide, those dreaded words echoed in my ears: "Kill that... that thing. It ain't human."

* * *

A/N: Wayward is a rewrite of a story I once had posted here. Updates will happen when they happen because college life consumes all. I appreciate honest reviews and hope you've enjoyed this opening chapter.


	2. Rescue

**Chapter 1: Rescue**

Flying under the radar, the Blackbird was returning to the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children: the operation base for the mutant group calling themselves the X-Men. Jean, Kurt, Kitty, Rahne, Scott and Henry were returning home after spending three days answering a request for assistance from one of the younger tenant's cousin who knew about the Institute. As it was they mostly assisted with search and rescue as well as distributing food and clean water. An earthquake had hit a suburban area followed by a wildfire fed by broken gas lines. First responders had their hands full, and so volunteers came from all sides to offer their assistance. Predictably the mutants acted incognito.

As they flew over Memphis, Jean telepathically picked up a strong, distressed cry for help. Sometimes when she was exhausted her control over her telepathic abilities wained slightly and especially strong emotional thoughts slipped through. Mostly they were random and harmless, but this one disturbed her greatly. Hank noticed her absent look, the one she sometimes wore when she was concentrating very hard. "Jean, what's wrong?"

"I picked up an intense distress cry from someone below. I'm trying to isolate the general area that it originated from before I lose all trace of the thought."

"There must be several people needing help in that city," Scott stated, looking at the geographical map he pulled up from the navigation systems. "That cry could have come from anywhere. Why is that one so special?"

"I'm not sure, but we need to find that person and quickly." Jean closed her eyes, visualizing as best she could a pathway that would guide her to where she was aiming to go. But the path became narrower and the goal more distant until it eventually vanished. "No! I lost it!"

Hank put a hand on her shoulder. "Without even a direction to go, I'm afraid we can't do anything."

Jean sighed. "I know, Mr. McCoy. I still can't help feeling like I let someone down, someone who really needed my help. Why else would I have picked up that individual thought?"

Before anyone could answer her open question, it was as if sudden turbulent winds had disrupted the smooth flight path of the jet, except for the fact that some were holding their heads as they fell to the floor while others wrapped their arms about themselves as though in pain. Whatever it was lasted for several minutes and when it ended, everyone sighed as though they had been struggling against gravity.

Kurt and Kitty were instantly working to track down what had attacked them. Jean, however, seemed to be recovering at a slower rate from the rest. Making sure that the jet was in good order, Scott gave the others a look over, noticing his teammate. "Jean?"

She shook her head before using both her hands to push herself to a sitting position, looking up to meet his eyes. "I know where that cry came from."

The blackbird hovered over an area in Memphis that was under reconstruction. Several of the empty and abandoned buildings that were scheduled for demolition still stood, weathered and beaten, forever patient. They were a mix of types, some skyscrapers, some tall business structures. Some had bars and restaurants, others small convenience shops. Regardless of what they had been, their windows were broken and shattered. Any possible entrance had been boarded in attempts to deter people from entering them. The more sound buildings harbored the homeless and the delinquent. It was in one such building that Jean had pinpointed the origin of the cry, and the source of the attack that had surprised them.

Jean levitated herself and Scott down to the top of one of the sound business buildings. Kurt teleported next to them. Scanning the area to get their bearings, they headed for the stairway. "The distress cry came from the lower levels of this building. From what I can hear, there are at least five people in one of the larger rooms on the first basement level."

"Kurt, teleport ahead for reconnaissance. Report back to Jean what you find out. We need the upper hand here." Scott directed.

"Right!" Kurt then disappeared in a puff of brimstone and smoke. Down on the basement level still in the stairway, he appeared, reaching for the door and cracking it open just barely enough to see through. Nothing to the left, nothing to the right. So he opened the door a little more to barely slip through. Since most people never think to look up, he bounced off one of the walls to propel himself to the ceiling, made sure that anything hanging was adequately tucked away, then moved down the hallway.

Checking the open rooms were obviously easier than checking the closed rooms. He couldn't risk teleporting into them without being noticed, so he compensated as best he could with his other senses. When he was sure there was no one in a particular room, he moved on to the next one. What some would consider annoying and a waste of time and energy in hindsight, Kurt came upon obvious evidence of an inhabited room. The lights were on inside, and loud voices stampeded through the cracked open doorway. _Jean, I found them._

_What do you see?_

_There are four men, three with 9mm guns, all four with large knives. They've got a girl held captive. She doesn't look so good. The man without a gun on him has his knife out...Oh no!_

_Kurt? Kurt! What's going on?_

_They're going to kill her! I'm going to distract them. Hurry!_

Kurt dropped to the floor, cushioning the fall by bending his knees. Utilizing the potential energy from the drop, he burst into the room, breaking the weakened door from its hinges. Startled, the man with the drawn knife whirled around in a sort of domino effect with the others. The moment he understood what was happening and who he was looking at, he pointed his knife directly at Kurt and shouted "Another one! Kill it!" Instantly three guns were drawn, firing before they were even level. Kurt bounced and flipped off of all four plains in the room as he dodged the shots. Jean and Scott were just feet away, racing down the hallways at their top speed.

Acting on the defensive wouldn't last for long. Eyeing the smallest man among the four, the one with the knife, time seemed to slow as he witnessed him approaching the helpless girl, large knife poised to slit a throat. "Only a coward attacks a helpless girl!" he shouted, leaping to the ceiling adjacent to the attacker, shoving forward to collide with the man, his arms wrapping around his waist to ensure that he was on target. As the two slid across the floor to knock over an abandoned table, the knife escaped to a random direction followed by Jean and Scott entering the fray.

She instantly put up a telekinetic barrier against the gunfire as Scott ran to the closest man, knocked aside his gun and engaged him in a match of thrusts and guards with their arms before Scott got the upper hand and knocked his enemy down, all of which happened in less that half a minute. "Jean, protect the girl!" he commanded, already diving for another of the gunmen.

"On it!" Extending her telekinetic barrier to surround the girl, she barely had the focus to dodge a pistol whip from the last man with a gun and dropped to the ground by sweeping her leg into the back of his legs. With her mind she ripped the gun out of his hand and threw it out into the hallway, embedding it into a wall. But that wouldn't stop him. Simultaneously, Kurt climbed to his feet just mere seconds before his enemy who had found his knife once more. He lunged into a forward hand spring, grasping the man around the neck with his legs and twisted to throw him down nearly hard enough to crack his skull. And before gravity could completely grasp him, he sprung back up onto his feet, grabbed the legs of the man and swung him into the bigger man attacking Jean. Nodding her thanks she immediately ran through the momentary opening towards the girl.

Scott's second target in the meantime had attempted several times gain the upper hand over Scott who was effectively redirecting the man's attacking energy into hurting himself. This added to his fury as he charged again and again. When Scott noticed the first man he had disarmed, he grasped the second man's arm, swung him around hard enough to collide with the first one and let go just at the point where momentum was at its strongest. "Quickly, get her out of here."

Kurt jumped to the wall just above the nail that held the chain which held the cuffs against her writs. At some point she had passed out during the battle, becoming a dead weight. To his luck the wall he stood on was concrete and it not only held the chain, it had driven a section of it into the concrete with it. "Scott, zap the chain. Then we can move her."

Scott reached up to his visor, adjusted it to allow only a sliver of his powers through, and severed the chain's connection to the rail nail. The girl dropped into Jean's open levitating bed indicated by her raised arms and hands opened, palm facing the ground. "I've got her. Let's get out of here."

"Bring her and yourself to the Blackbird without moving her too much. We must keep the addition of more injuries to a minimum."

She nodded. "I'll do my best. Go with Kurt. Tell Hank to lower the blackbird as low as possible. I'll move as quickly as I can."

"That will have to be enough," he said as he blasted a sufficient opening into the wall, taking care to keep the flying debris to a minimum. "Kurt, you and I need to occupy these men so that Jean and the girl make it out of the building and are on their way up to the Blackbird. When they're safe, do your thing."

"Sure thing," he answered, pumping a fist in front of his face. They stood together in front of the new doorway ready to send the attackers back into the room if needs be. What they weren't counting on was one of the men being able to crawl towards and retrieve one of the the guns as the last man with a knife unsheathed his. He threw it in Kurt's direction, and in the same moment, he dodged, Scott blasted the knife away, and the man with the gun rolled onto his back, aimed in their direction and fired. It clipped Kurt's right thigh causing him to collapse onto that knee. Scott zapped the gun from the man's hand, grabbed the chair that was in front of him and flung it at the men, knocking all four of them to the ground again.

Kneeling in front of Kurt, Scott gasped, "Are you alright?" Kurt seethed. "It's nothing a couple of stitches won't be able to mend. Is Jean out?" "Yes," he answered, taking a minute to look out the hole, seeing her nearly at the Blackbird's loading ramp. "She's nearly there. Let's go!"

Kurt grasped Scott's hand, saying "Hang on!" before teleporting to the jet in two jumps: the first to the roof, the second inside the jet. Before the ramp even closed completely the jet gained altitude and flew off. As Jean gently placed the girl onto a stretcher that Kitty and Rahne had waiting at the loading ramp Kurt gasped heavily as Scott half carried him to a chair. Kurt grasped his wounded leg, applying pressure to keep the bleeding to a minimum while Scott maneuvered around the girls placing the stretcher in the the jet's cargo bay while making sure that she was firmly secured.

Hank immediately got to work evaluating the girl, who was actually a young woman, while Scott worked on Kurt's leg. With only basic first aid supplies on the jet, there was little that could be done concerning both of the injured. Having gathered what he could from the highly limited array of first aid supplies, Scott ripped open the jeans around the wound and dumped a saline solution on it in such a way that it washed the blood out of the wound. Kurt hissed, his thigh clenching in response to the pain. Quickly, Scott cut away at the fine fur surrounding the bleeding wound and then rinsed it again, this time receiving a smaller, less intense hiss. He followed up with butterfly bandages and clean gauze for a temporary solution. He would need stitches to properly close the wound of which there were no supplies on board to actually put to use.

Back with Hank, he wore and expression of intense concern. He went over and over her body with his eyes, always seeing the same massive bruises and cuts, the same combination of wet and dried blood mixed with dirt, the same swollen wrists, and the same pained face. He feared touching her should he inadvertently inflict more pain. "I'm afraid I can't do much for her except for first response first aid. She needs a hospital and the sooner the better." He said as he applied instant cold packs to her major bruises, including one on her head. From small compartment above her, he pulled free an oxygen mask. Instead of securing it to her face with the strap, he held it instead, not wanting to jostle her head in the slightest, especially since her neck had been immobilized by the stretcher.

Jean's sigh caught his attention. "Are you okay?" She rubbed at her forehead with the back of her hand, then let her head rest against the wall. "Yeah, just exhausted. I feel like... like I've been doing a solo in the danger room for three hours. And I haven't the faintest clue as to why."

Kurt hobbled over to sit in a chair secured to the jet and buckled in. "I second that. I feel as if I haven't eaten in several hours. Even 'porting was more difficult than it should have been." He yawned, slightly exposing his canines.

"What about Scott?" Hank queried.

Kurt thumbed towards the front. "He's helping Kitty pilot. Both of them are looking for a hospital near a place where we can land the jet."

"The fact that she's unconscious is a duel-edged sword. On the one side she's not cognitively aware of the pain. And on the other side, if she's suffered a massive concussion, she may slip into a coma or even die." Hank muttered.

Kitty called from the front saying that Scott had succeeded in contacting a country hospital that had enough space to land the jet and that a medical team would be ready to receive them.

Several hours after landing and letting the medical team (who were under the impression that a life flight chopper had landed instead of a massive black jet) whisk the woman into the ER on a gurney, a surgeon with short golden blonde hair and blue eyes, dressed in blue-green scrubs and booties on her feet, passed through the heavy doors pulling a surgeon's cap from her head. Scott, wearing his glasses in place of his visor, got to his feet first, followed by Jean and Kurt, who was wearing his image inducer. Rahne, Kitty and Hank had stayed in the camouflaged jet. The nurse extended her hand to the three, introducing herself as Michelle, the overseeing surgeon. "How is she?" asked Kurt.

Michelle invited them to sit back down as she pulled up a chair herself, taking the booties off. "She's going to live," she answered, then changed wheels. "It's not very often that a young lady is brought into our ER beaten as badly as she has been. It raises some questions."

Scott nodded, his fingers interlock and his arms resting on his legs as he leaned forward slightly. "We heard her scream for help. She was about to be killed when we found her."

"You kids are lucky you didn't get killed yourselves while playing hero," she remarked, looking specifically at Kurt's wrapped leg and the spot of blood that had seeped through. Jean diplomatically brought the focus back to the woman. "How bad?"

Michelle sat back into her chair, legs crossed, rolling her open hand in circles as she answered, "She's asleep. We've administered a sedative so she can get some good rest. Both of her legs are broken and her right arm. She's also suffered a minor concussion, and at this time we can't determine how it will affect her. Minor injuries include the dislocation of her right shoulder and a few cuts that required stitches. Luckily there was no internal bleeding or organ damage," and without missing a beat she stopped, lifted her hand palm up, fingers curled in an inviting gesture and asked, "By any chance, is she a mutant?"

They looked at each other for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Michelle caught the gesture and smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'm not prejudice. I see only people that are in need of medical help, not what or who they are."

"That's only part of it," Jean responded. "We don't actually know ourselves. What gave you cause to think she is?"

Michelle looked away for a moment, collecting her thoughts as she tapped her chin with her finger. "I figured that if she is it would better explain a few peculiar things, such as the slight relocation of the first digit on both her feet and the unusually long toes. Of course, a slight genetic abnormality could likely be the cause as well." She paused for a few moments, turning something over in her head a few times as she studied something to her left. In a hushed tone she divulged, "But a four foot long tail is not easily accepted as a slight genetic abnormality." She enunciated the significance of the fact by looking back at them with her eyes only.

Three jaws dropped in both shock and confusion. Jean was the first to respond, responding in equally hushed tones, "That particular detail was absent when we found her. I know for sure because I helped carry her away from the scene."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Michelle asked in a probing sort of way.

"Yes."

"Now that's in a whole different category in itself." Michelle sat back into the chair, looking down her leg to her foot and tapping her chin again. "I don't know much about mutant physiology aside from what is the same between them and non-mutant humans. But, is it possible for a mutant to change their shape?" She looked up at Jean who nodded in confirmation. "Are there any other reasons why a mutant's body would change shape?" Jean nodded again. "Could you give me an example?" She focused intently on her green eyes, her position unchanged.

Unfazed, "One of our respected colleagues and close friend had an experience in which his mutant gene caused a sudden dramatic and very rapid transformation of his physical body. In hindsight he could identify what he currently believes to be warning signs as well as the actual catalyst. Regardless, it transpired in a matter of several minutes, probably close to an hour."

Michelle nodded and resumed tapping her chin, looking down at her foot once more. "I wonder if that is a plausible possibility with this girl that you brought in. But, I'm not sure what tests I could run to prove that that is the case here." She paused again to think. "I suppose I could have her observed for twenty-four hours to catch any other physical changes. That's about the only surefire test that I can ethically and morally perform." With nothing more to say at the moment, she rose from her chair. "I need to get back to work. If you have any questions..."

"May we please see her?" Kurt asked.

She nodded, smiling slightly with her mouth, but more so with her eyes. "For a short while I suppose. I've already broken a few rules, what's one more."

The three of them responded all at once with, "Thank you."

Inside the recovery room rested the young woman they had rescued. She looked a bit better with the dirt and blood removed. There were bandages wrapped around her head and down her arms in an irregular fashion. Her right wrist and lower arm were held in a blue cast. The rest of her body was hidden from view by the thick hospital blanket. EKG wires that ran from underneath her hospital gown, drooped over the bed side and rose up into a machine which beeped in a quiet, regular rhythm. An oxygen tube had been placed under her nose, secured by being wrapped around her ears and under her chin. On her left index finger rested an oxygen saturation monitor connected to another machine via a grey wire. A black cuff self inflated around the same arm, ticked for a few seconds, then deflated as it tested her blood pressure.

Though she looked both improved and familiar, at the same time she looked so different. On her olive skin a fine coat of minky-soft, olive-brown fur had grown in on most of her body, leaving her face except just along her cheek bones and under her jawline. She had also developed a slight widow's peak that hadn't been there before. Her ears had a slight point at the top and bottom, and she appeared to have black fingernails. Michelle sucked in a loud breath in awe. "That settles it. She did not present symptoms of hirsutism when we first admitted her."

"Hiru-what?" Kurt wanted to know.

"I'm referring to the excess hair on her face. Some people who aren't mutants also have an overabundance of hair on their faces; it's called hirsutism, a condition more easily identified in men. However, if it is hirsutism this would be a very unusual case. Usually the hair has a course texture and is longer. Hers is soft and short. And it doesn't explain the fine hair on the rest of her body. Hirsutism usually occurs in irregular patches, and she's completely covered aside from most of her face, ears, the palms of her hands and most likely the bottoms of her feet. Although it is also genetic, the hair grows slowly, like fingernails."

She walked to the foot of the bed and picked up the clipboard hanging there. As she flipped through the pages she asked, "Do any of you know her name, or who her parents are?" Kurt answered no. "Until she wakes up then, we'll have to refer to her as 'Jane Doe'." Returning the clipboard, she added, "I'll have some of the nurses keep an eye out for ABPs concerning missing persons fitting her description when she was first brought in here just in case. In the meantime, I need one of you to help with filing out a incident report for the subsequential police investigation. Of course, if and when she is able, she will also be asked about the incident." As an afterthought, she pointed to Kurt's leg. "You'd better have that looked at. Tom won't mind if you're a mutant too."

Scott and Kurt followed Michelle out of the room, Kurt with his mouth agape. Jean lingered as she debated the idea of peaking into the girl's mind, eventually deciding that it wasn't the best of decisions for the time being, and left. Visiting hours were over anyways.

Once Scott finished with the report and Kurt had his wound stitched up and redressed with clean bandages and even a few safety pins to at least hold the gapping hole in his pants somewhat closed, the three returned to the camouflaged Blackbird waiting an unobtrusive distance from the hospital. They spoke with Hank and Professor Xavier, who Hank had contacted earlier, telling him about the young lady and her rescue. After about an hour of talking and the consideration of several ideas, it was decided that Kurt and Jean would remain behind while the rest would return to New York in the Blackbird. When she was returned to her family, they would contact the Institute to be picked up by one of the smaller aircraft.

Back inside the hospital the two X-Men ate a light dinner in the basement cafeteria. They then set up a makeshift camp in one of the waiting rooms prepared to sleep the night. Blankets were brought out to them by one of the night nurses upon hearing that the two lived some distance away from the hospital and that they weren't going anywhere until 'Jane Doe' had been identified and her family found. It was past nine pm when they drifted off.

Approximately at three in the morning Kurt woke up. His injured leg was bothering him a bit, while his other leg had fallen asleep, becoming an effective dead weight. Maneuvering so both feet were on the ground, he rubbed at the uninjured leg, coaxing the blood back into it. Man was it annoying when the pins and needles attacked. He couldn't help but fidget a bit until they stopped. But what was worse, he found out that his tail had fallen asleep too. That was so close to unbearable that he was glad the rest of the people in that particular waiting room were either sleeping or dozing because he couldn't control the wild fidgeting his tail was doing.

Bored and stiff, he got up and wandered around. He bought some powdered doughnuts from a vending machine to snack on and then found a little boy who had to be no older than five sitting in a chair in front of a salt water fish tank watching the fish intently. He wore Sponge Bob pajamas and had an IV line in the back of his hand, the IV back hanging from a movable pole "Hi there." Kurt waved.

"Hi," he responded without looking at Kurt.

"You like fish?"

"Uh-huh."

"Which ones?"

The boy pointed at the lionfish. "The spiky ones." He then turned to Kurt. "I'm William."

"Hi, William. I'm Kurt. Why are you in the hospital?"

"I had a cold. The cold got so bad that I couldn't breathe. The doctor told Momma that it was nahmoma... or something like that. I've been here for three days."

"Where's your Momma now?" Kurt asked as he pulled up a chair next to him, sitting on it backwards.

"She had to go potty. She'll be back though." He spotted one of the packages of powdered doughnuts in Kurt's hand. "Can I have one?" Kurt looked at them and then back at the boy. "Only if your Momma says you can have one. I don't want to get you into trouble if I give you one and your Momma doesn't want you to have it."

William smiled. "Ok." He then focused on the bandaging around Kurt's right leg. "How did you get that owie? Does it hurt?" Looking down, Kurt brushed his hand over the bandages. "I got into a fight. And no, it doesn't hurt anymore." The boy turned back to watching the fish, saying "Fighting is bad. You shouldn't fight." A few minutes later Kurt heard a woman's voice. "Will, who's your friend?" The boy whirled around. "Hi Momma. He's Kurt. He said I could have a doughnut if you said it was okay."

Kurt smiled. This kid didn't miss a beat when there was something he wanted. His Mom shook her head too. "I suppose. But, only one alright."

"Yay!" he clapped his hands. Kurt fished out one of the small doughnuts from the package and gave it to him. It was gone in three bites. "That was good! Thanks for the doughnut, Kurt. And don't fight anymore, okay."

His Mom touched his shoulder then. "Alright little man. You've been up long enough. Time to go back to your room and go back to bed."

"Ah Mom, I wanna stay with Kurt."

Kurt mused up Will's hair. "Don't worry. I'll be here for another day. I'm waiting for someone I know to get better."

"Really? What got him to come here?"

Kurt laughed. "Actually the person I'm waiting for is a she, and she got hurt real bad. That's why I was fighting, so I could stop the guys that were hurting her."

"Is she okay?"

"She will be. She just needs to sleep here for a few days until she gets better."

"I'm glad." He gave a huge smile that nearly consumed his whole face. His Mom then placed her hand on his back, lightly pushing him so he would get off the chair and start walking back to his room, using her other hand to hold and guide the IV pole. He got the point and followed along, pausing to turn around and wave a good-bye to his new friend. Grinning, Kurt moved the chairs away from the aquarium before returning to where he had been sleeping. There were still some time before morning hit. Maybe he could clock in a few more hours of sleep. Maybe being the key word as he looked unhappily at the uncomfortable chairs. He was about to completely give up on them ever being comfortable and sleep on the floor when he spotted a bench. That might be better than the floor, he thought to himself.

* * *

A/N: Spring Break is over, so my time to write has once again been greatly reduced. The next chapter will be slow in coming. Hang in there :)  
A/N: 05/10 Last rewrite. Chapter 2 should be coming within the next day or two.


	3. What's in a memory

**Chapter 2: What's in a memory?**

The following morning two representatives, one male and one female, from the local CSI arrived to obtain evidence from the Jane Doe. The man was unprepared to see that she was a mutant while the woman just shrugged: processing mutants was nothing new to her. Instead of personally collecting some types of evidence, such as fingernail scrapings and photos, they received them from one of the emergency processing nurses. The man asked "When is she expected to wake up?" The nurse shook his head, peeking inside Jane Doe's room. "Uncertain. But, we'll let you know when she does so you can collect her statements."

"Thank you." He let the nurse slip passed him. His partner had finished packing up the evidence and picked up her kit. She answered in response to his raised eyebrow, "We're finished here for the time being. Let's get back to the lab."

In the lobby, Kurt shifted to get into a more comfortable spot, the subtle sound coaxing Jean awake. Teasing her eyes open, the clock told her politely that it was well passed nine. The blanket slid from her as she stretched, simultaneously apologizing to her abused and stiff muscles. She caught sight of the CSIs leaving which startled her a bit, spilling just a bit of adrenaline into her systems to wake her up faster.

Looking around, she noted that Kurt had moved to one of the benches, his feet sticking out from the bottom of the blanket. Yawning the sleep away, she approached the counter with the blanket folded over her arm. The nurse behind the counter this time was a woman dressed in bubble printed scrubs. Jean inquired about where to return the blanket to which the nurse accepted it from her, sticking it in a back room, most likely where the laundry carts were stored. Jean didn't leave the counter until she had asked about the Jane Doe. The nurse in blue scrubs that the CSIs had reached the nurse's station at just the moment the words left her mouth. "She's improved a little but, she hasn't woken up just yet." Jean looked away, her chin resting on her fist while her left arm, pressed against her waist, supported her elbow. A few moments of thought, she lifted her head to nod as well as vocalize her thanks.

Shaking Kurt awake, she returned his blanket before the two made another trip to the cafeteria for some breakfast. Afterwards they attempted to locate a nearby store that sold inexpensive clothing so Kurt could replace his jeans, only to find out that there wasn't one in a decent walking distance. Some time after learning that Kurt would have to make do with the patchwork jeans, they were permitted to visit Jane Doe for a short while. About an hour later the female nurse shooed them out of the room so she could do a more thorough check on her patient. In the same moment two policemen, one dressed in uniform and the other wearing mahogany business casual clothes entered the lobby. The uniformed man asked the nurse at the counter about the Jane Doe and those who found her. Kurt raised his hand to grab the attention of the casual dresser. "That would be us."

"We'd like to collect some statements from you," he responded, pulling out a field book and a pen. He sighted the bandage around Kurt's leg. "Start at the beginning."

Because of the circumstances of how they found her they couldn't exactly give the whole truth. Who would believe that a group of mutants were flying over the state of Tennessee in a military jet that could not be detected by radar when a telepath heard a cry for help which led them to investigate the cry to find an unconscious girl being held captive by a handful of armed men. So they shifted the story to portray them as lost tourists that heard her cry and reacted by going to her aid. They'd taken her several miles away from the place in their rented car before calling 911 due to the fight-or-flight instinct. After the ambulance came they headed for the hospital that one of the EMTs had said they were headed too when their car ran out of gas. They hitchhiked the remainder of the distance. The detective was skeptical however, he accepted the story.

When asked for details of the assailants they gave general descriptions. The men were all dressed in dark clothes and gloves and knitted hats on their heads that very likely could have been rolled ski masks. One man was burly and big, over six feet tall and 160 to 170 pounds. The other three were average builds, between five and six feet, 130 to 145 pounds. No distinctive features. They were clean shaven and because of the hats, it was difficult to relate anything else. Jean remembered seeing a few beer cans in the room as she was helping get the girl to safety and told the detective so.

He nodded his thanks when they finished, giving each of them his calling card with the words "If you remember anything else, call me." He then asked about Jane Doe's condition before leaving the hospital. The officer remained, standing in close proximity to her room.

Back in the waiting lobby Kurt caught what sounded like the local news coming from a small TV mounted high in the corner of the room, a very impractical spot for those who really wanted to pay attention to what was on it. It was made worse by the volume being too low to hear anything clearly. Fortunately the text option was enabled, and though the words appeared at a slower pace than the reporters talking, it was better than nothing.

"And an update on the news we brought you yesterday evening about the break-in at a home in Memphis that ended in a shooting which killed two men and injured a third. Police have identified one of the victims as Nick Ballard who had been a hired body guard for the owner of the home. The identities of the other two men have yet to be released. The victim's condition has improved from critical to stable and though doctors won't go into details, they predict that he should make a full recovery in a few weeks.

No statement has been given by the home owner, who has requested to remain anonymous, concerning the breaking and entering of his home. Police believe the sudden appearance of Nick and the victim surprised the thieves, and in their attempts to escape guns went off. Based on witness statements, the police believe that there are potentially two other men involved in the attempted robbery. We will keep you up to date as more developments come."

After reading the final words of the report, he wondered if the that story had any relation to the girl they had rescued last night. Moments afterwards he wondered how he would come to such an idea.

Walking up to the nurses desk he asked the man behind the counter if there had been any new missing persons reports that described a young woman about five feet tall with long, mixed-brown hair, hazel brown eyes and olive skin. He responded that there had not. Shrugging he attempted to walk down the hallway leading to her room but, was stopped by the officer. Understanding that the situation had changed into an active police investigation he didn't press to be allowed to enter the room. Instead he spoke to Jean about taking a short break from the hospital environment and getting a bite to eat at one of the fast food stops that were in reasonable walking distance.

She woke up to the light hum of the blood pressure cuff deflating. Her eyes took their time clearing from seeing three of everything down to just the one. Everything around her was unfamiliar. The empty ceiling, the harsh lights embedded in it, the curtain track curving around the door. The thing on her finger felt odd, and there was something...no, several somethings sticking to her chest. The bed beneath her was at a slightly raised incline and the pillow was flat. It made her neck uncomfortable. As she became more alert, the pain began to set in. She felt awful, as if she had overexerted herself exercising. And the flat pillow was adding to the ache in her right shoulder.

Turning her head slightly she could glimpse the corner of someone's elbow just outside the door. Her mouth was sticky and dry, thirsting for water. Yet, there was none to be found in the room. The dry smell of many antibacterials slipped past the oxygen tube wafting clean oxygen into her nostrils. Combined with the green, lightly woven and thread worn blanket covering the majority of her body, she concluded that she was in a hospital. But why?

Laying her head back squarely on the pillow she noticed the dull throbbing inside it, quickly resonating with the pain racing up her legs to meet up with the pain from the rest of her body before finishing at the base of her skull. Slowly she lifted her left hand to rub her forehead, finding the gauze bandaging around it. Exploring, she found a mass of gauze just behind her left temple. The light touch caused her to wince, so she made to drop her arm when she felt something on her right cheek. There rested another mass of gauze. With nothing else to touch, she let her arm drop across her chest, noticing the bandages on her forearm, wrist and hand. Her right arm had bandages around the upper arm and also a cast around the wrist and hand. The cuff around her left upper arm inflated again, its pressure pinching her skin.

She licked her lips, trying to moisten them with dry saliva. Her thirst increased. Where was some water? She tried to speak, to call out to the person she thought she could see standing outside the door. But, all that came out of her dry mouth were mumbles. What was wrong with her? She tried again and succeeded in making slightly louder mumbles. The device slipped off her finger as she shifted in her bed, attempting to push herself up and away from it to project her voice towards the door. The machine it was connected to began to beep loudly a few seconds later. She looked at it, confused.

The person standing outside the door looked in. He was in an officer's uniform. Turning his head to focus on someone else outside the door he said, "She's awake."

The male nurse in blue scrubs from the nurses desk entered the room, pausing for a moment to take in the new information, and then stepped forward to return the device back on her finger. Gently he pressed against the top of her chest indicating that she should lay back onto the bed as he simultaneously raised it so she could sit more upright. It squeaked as the mattress adjusted. "My name is Shaun and I'm one of the attending nurses. How do you feel? Do you need anything?"

She licked her lips again and hoarsely whispered, "Water, please." Shaun stepped out and returned with a paper cup. She reached forward to take it with her left hand but, he slipped past it and held it in front of her lips. "We don't want to risk you spilling it down your front. I know you can probably grasp things but, I don't think the strength is in them just yet." Dropping her arm, she nodded her understanding and leaned forward towards the cup a bit. He tipped it towards her and she welcomed the smooth, liberating caress against the rough ridges of her lips and revelled in the flood of moisture running down the length of her tongue to the back of her throat where it slipped down unrestricted into her stomach. One, two, three gulps and the cup was emptied. Breathing a sigh she replied, "Thank you."

He set the cup down and the movable table next to the bed just as another person entered the room. She was dressed in faded yellow scrubs and was wearing glasses. Her hair was short, curly and brown. For all instances she appeared to be the average working American woman. "My name is Grace and I would like to ask you some questions. Is that alright?"

She nodded.

"Do you know where you are?"

"In a hospital."

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Because I feel out of the tree. Johnny pushed me." Grace scribbled some notes onto a clipboard she had brought in with her.

"Do you know your parents?"

"I don't have any."

She paused. "Who takes care of you?"

"Madam Arkins."

"Who is Madam Arkins?"

"She's the orphanage mother."

Grace stopped at the last answer, studiously examining the girl's face to catch any possible physical response to the question. The girl looked down at her left hand which now laid in her lap, turning it to look at the bandaging around it and her fingers. As an afterthought she added, "She's not going to be happy that I got hurt again. She says I get hurt too much and that makes her look bad. But, I've fallen out of the tree lots of times and not gotten hurt this bad." There was nothing to give away that she could be lying. Still, her behavior and her responses were both peculiar...and distant, as though she were talking in a dream.

"How old are you?" she continued to ask, pressing on as if the slight pause had meant nothing.

"Six and a half." More note scribbling.

"Are there other kids your age?"

The girl shook her head slowly. "I'm the only one who is six. Johnny is eight. There are three others who are five and four who are seven."

"What is your name?"

Locking eyes with Grace, she replied in a monotone voice, "Yatima". Then looking down, not really seeing anything, she continued, "But, she called all of us Yatima. Johnny has a name because the people who brought him were friends of his mommy, and she died in an accident." More scribbling.

"What about the other kids?"

"We're all orphans, brought to the orphanage by strangers. I've been there since before I can remember. Some were already there when I came, and others came later. I've only seen two kids leave. They went with some of the people who visited the orphanage. They got their own mommy and daddy."

"Do you call each other Yatima?" A few more notes.

Again, she looked up to lock gazes with Grace, grinning like a little girl. "No silly. We gave ourselves names. Don't tell Madam Arkins but, my name is Olive. Then there's Red, Leo and Maggy, they're all five. Mac, Violet, Digs, and Sunny are all seven." She started to fidget as if arguing with herself about something.

"Is something wrong?"

She wouldn't look directly at her, instead looking at the space between her elbow and her body. "I'm... can I please have something to eat?"

Grace shook her head slightly, imagining what the possible unpleasantries that 'Olive' may have had to endure under Madam Arkins, if she even existed. "I'll get one of the nurses to bring you something. Any requests?"

Olive appeared shocked at the question. "I get to choose?" Again Grace shook her head. "Absolutely." Olive looked down at her feet in thought. "I heard about this stuff called pizza. Can I have that?" She looked up, waiting both patiently and expectantly for Grace's answer. She smiled. "Then pizza it is." Olive smiled as Grace made some final notes before she left.

Jean and Kurt returned in time to see Shaun step into Jane Doe's room with a tray containing milk and pizza. Kurt instantly asked at the counter, "She's awake? May we see her?" Before the nurse could respond, Grace and Michelle approached them. "Yes, she is awake but, I advise against seeing her right now." Grace said. Jean furrowed her brow. "What's wrong?'

"She's in shock and has regressed to what appears to be a memory from her childhood. She'll neither recognize you nor remember what happened to her for the time being. I don't know if she'll be able to pull herself out of that memory on her own or not. And I can't say how long she's going to be like that." Grace answered, folding her arms.

"Did you get her name?" Kurt asked.

"We got a name, but I don't believe that it is her given name. She refers to herself as Olive, and she's also stated that she's been in an orphanage for most, if not all, of her life which may have been up to slightly over seven years. As for that orphanage, if it does exist, it must be in a country where there aren't any strict laws about the care of orphans. Most likely whatever government established there provides the orphanage with a certain amount of funds based on several factors, one possibly being how often the children are injured to the degree that they need clinical treatment. And if that were the case, there would be little or no motivation to scrutinize further."

"Places like that still exist?" he grimaced.

"Unfortunately."

He folded his arms and leaned up against the counter. "What now? What's the next step?"

Michelle stepped forward a bit, her finger curled around her chin in that familiar manner of hers. "For now, we wait. The authorities have been notified of her status but, even they aren't going to pressure her to remember something right now. It very well could do more worse than good." She enunciated the last statement by flexing her fingers free from her chin.

As the two doctors turned to walk back down the hallway, Grace paused. Over her shoulder she added, "We may not find out what happened to her any time soon but, as for her identity, that may still come from a missing persons report."

Sitting back in the lobby, Kurt rested his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging freely between them. Half-heartedly twiddling his thumbs, he shifted his head to his right where Jean was sitting next to him, reading a issue of the Time magazine. "What are we going to do? I don't think we can really camp out here in the lobby as we wait for answers."

She responded, turning the page instead of turning her head. "I'm not about to dive into her fractured mind if that's what you're suggesting." She turned another page. "We should probably look into renting a couple of hotel rooms. It appears that waiting for her to be reunited with her family is going to be a long time coming. And it would reinforce our story of being tourists. We can't exactly spend our entire time here in the waiting room."

He stood up, arching backwards slightly to stretch his stiff back. He was feeling a bit cooped up. Plus his injured leg was annoying him: it itched underneath the bandaging. He spotted a public computer in one of the corners and decided that he would search for a reasonably priced hotel in the vicinity while Jean read. It would at least provide him with something to do.

That evening they reserved a two bedroom suite at one of the hotels some twelve miles from the hospital, one that had a small kitchenette. Olive had spent the day between small naps, drawing and playing board games often with Shaun up until he told her that his shift was over and that she would have to wait until tomorrow to play more games with him. She frowned for a few minutes even after he had left the room. For the most part, the night was uneventful.

The dull murmur of something over an intercom disrupted her sleep, pulling her reluctantly from the world she had been dreaming in. Her head felt heavy, her arms lifeless, and her legs... there was something encasing them down around her shins. What had happened? Nothing made sense.

She tried to roll off of her right side and grimaced as sharp knives of pain seared through the muscles connected to that shoulder. The back of her head pounded in protest. She felt like eighty percent of her body was one massive bruise. When she finally succeeded in rolling onto her back, she dabbed her brow with her forearm, rediscovering the bandages around her hand and so forth. Thoroughly confused, she wracked her mind for something, anything, that would give her some answers.

And nothing came. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep during lunch break at the local zoo, a field trip organized by her private school for her biology class. They had the full day to explore and learn provided each student complete a two page questionnaire about several of the zoo exhibits. So what had happened to send her from that soft tuffet of grass to the cruel, hard, fake mattress that she had awakened on?

As if it weren't enough that her memory was not cooperating, now her bladder wanted attention. She spotted the restroom and not really understanding that both her legs were in casts, she threw aside the blanket covering her and did her best to get out of bed. She knocked something over and sent it crashing to the ground. The noise caused a nurse to step hurriedly into the room. The instant she saw her trying to swing her legs over the side of the bed she asked, "Is everything alright?"

"No. I need the bathroom. Now."

Kurt had decided to teleport to the nearest clothing store and purchase some new clothes. Wearing the same tattered clothes for three days straight attracted unwanted attention. And to be honest, the safety pins holding his pant leg together were grabbing onto his fur and aggravating him even further. Subsequentially he needed to eat more to build up his energy levels again: teleporting required a lot of it. Jean voiced her disapproval when he returned to the suite, though she didn't add as much emphasis as she had originally intended when he showed her what he'd picked up for her as well. As the saying goes, it's easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

While waiting for him, she had made a stop at a local grocer for food supplies. Eating out all the time was going to get tiresome quickly and cost more. Granted staying in a suite like they were wasn't exactly cost friendly either. She hoped that their stay wouldn't be too long.

And then Kurt brought up the story that they had given to the local authorities. To avoid suspicions they were going to have to have records of renting a car from somewhere as well as having an actual car. Immediately the two were on the phone with the X mansion to iron out the details.

Back at the hospital, Grace was checking up on Olive. She was wearing a sunrise orange set of scrubs when she entered her room. Olive had her legs proped up in the bed, annoyed about something. "Hello, Olive. Do you remember me from yesterday?"

Olive raised an eyebrow. "Yesterday? How long have I been here?"

It was Grace's turn to raise her eyebrow. "For three days. Do you not remember any of it?"

Olive shook her head. "No."

Grace sat down on the rolling stool in the room, jotting notes on her clipboard. "What do you remember?"

Olive told her. "I see. Well, to catch you up to speed, you came in two days ago with broken bones, cuts, bruises and a minor concussion. Yesterday, when I spoke with you, you told me that you were six years old and your name was Olive. You'd fallen out of a tree and believed that was the reason you were in the hospital. Does any of that ring a bell?"

Olive tapped her right finger on her thigh, unsettled. "What you're claiming I've told you is true. I did live in an orphanage when I was six, and I did fall out of a tree. But, I don't live at the orphanage any more. I haven't been there in eight years."

"Oh?" Grace jotted more notes down. "Do you mind telling me more?"

"Actually, yes. Just who are you and what's going on?"

Grace lowered her head and smiled. She'd forgotten that the girl in the bed had no idea who she was and why she was even talking to her. "My apologies. I am Grace. I'm a trauma psychiatrist here at River's Bend Hospital. As I've mentioned before, you were brought in after suffering severe injuries, of which we typically see with victims of assault. I've been speaking with you to evaluate how you are recovering from the damage the juxtaposition of any brain damage caused by the concussion and the psychological aftermath from the initial attack."

Olive seemed to relax a little. "I guess that's a believable story." Looking down at her tapping finger, she thought a while. Grace waited patiently, not moving her pen or any other part of her body. "I was adopted when I was seven by a single woman who wanted a familly. I remember that I could not share her last name because she was unmarried, a quirk of her cultural upbringing. That's the only reason she gave me. When she did marry, I still wasn't allowed to take on her last name."

"Why not?"

"He wouldn't allow it. He didn't want to recognize me as his daughter. He only permitted me to live in the same house as him because it pleased my mom."

More note taking. "What is your name then? Is it still Olive?"

She looked up suddenly unsettled. Glancing left, then right, she appeared as though she were searching for something and not being able to find it. "Yes, she did change my name. But, I can't remember it!" The EKG began to beep an alert as her anxiety rose with the potential of leading her into the early stages of a panic attack. Grace set aside her clip board and gently placed her right hand on Olive's left shoulder. "It's alright. It's not uncommon for trauma victims to forget information such as their names and/or important dates, sometimes even faces of people they know or place names to faces. Most recover that information anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks."

"What about the others?" she asked, not consoled.

"A small number take months or years to recover everything they've forgotten."

"Is there anything that can be done so I don't have to be one among the small number?"

Grace nodded. "Such amnesiacs typically have a greater amount of physical and psychological trauma than we believe you have sustained. However, there are some approaches we can take to encourage your recovery if that is what you want. But, first we need to find out how much you do remember." Olive calmed enough so Grace could return to the stool and her clipboard. "To start off, how old are you?"

"I think I'm fifteen."

"Do you know your address?"

"No."

"How about your birthday?"

"May 16."

"The year?"

"No. Never knew. Mom set my birthday on the day that she adopted me."

"And when was that?"

"1993."

"Do you know what today is?"

"From what you're telling me it's not anywhere near 2008."

"Correct. It's September 8, 2010"

"So that would make me seventeen instead of fifteen."

"Any physical differences you've noticed about yourself? Such as, is your hair shorter or longer than you remember it? Any scars that you didn't have?"

This question stopped time for Olive. For the first time she seriously scrutinized everything that her vision was sending to her brain. Starting with the fingertips of her left hand, she noted the black fingernails peeking through the bandages around her fingers. Walking slowly up her arm from those fingernails, she saw the minky-soft, olive-brown fur that coated every inch of her skin. Pulling away at the neck of the gown she was wearing, she saw how the fur from her arm met up and merged with the fur covering her torso and other arm. With the fingers of both hands she touched her face, then her ears, then her neck, taking in the strangeness of them. Focusing on her lower half, she became suddenly more attuned to everything, such as the rough skin on the souls of her feet, the fur wedged between the casts and the surfaces of her legs, and how did she look over her...tail.

"Yes. I don't remember ever looking like this." She became frustrated and confused, eyeing each of her fingers before clenching her fists atop her legs. "I was an average looking girl with olive skin, hazel eyes and shoulder-length dark brown hair. I went to a prep school and wore a uniform." Tears threatened to drizzle down the sides of her cheeks. She was unusually calm, Grace noticed as she wrote down some notes. Olive lightly shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs, focusing on her right shoulder as she clenched her eyes shut, cutting off the building pool of tears, sending them down her mostly naked cheeks. Illogical emotions ran rampant through her body causing it to quiver slightly despite her efforts to suppress them.

Grace sighed, flipped her clipboard up under her arm and gently touched Olive's quivering shoulder again. "I can't give you all the answers. And I can't say that I personally know what you're going through. What I can offer you though, is my promise to help you find those answers any way that I can." Standing, she gently teased Olive's shoulder. "Get some rest. I'll come back in a while, and you and I will try and get some of your memories back."

Olive looked up at her. "Thank you, both for your honesty and for your help."

"Hey, Jean. I was thinking we ought to at least check in on Olive soon, see if she has... Jean?" Kurt had stopped, seeing Jean's back turned towards him. "No, I'm afraid not. Perhaps. We've reserved a hotel room for the time being. They're still at large. I don't think they have enough evidence to narrow down where to even begin searching. I don't know what they'll do. No. No. Will do. Goodbye, Professor." She turned slightly as she ended the call on her cell, catching sight of Kurt sitting in one of the small chairs around the small table.

He rose to his feet. "I wish we had more that we could give the Professor," he replied, waving his right arm, palm up. "We should at least check on her once today. It's not like we left a calling card. She may have improved enough that we may be able to help."

Jean headed for the door, jerking her head lightly in its direction. "Well, are you coming?" He grinned, shaking his head at the sarcasm.

"Olive, you have visitors," Shaun announced lightly. She looked up from the book she was reading, eyebrow raised. For some reason she remembered him from the day before and not Grace. With this discovery she determined that her memory was patchy at best. Would these visitors help her remember more of what she had forgotten? Wait, what if they were afraid of how she looked? If they were visitors they had to know at least a bit about her, and that bit may include what she was supposed to look like. But, wait. Would they be angry with her? Or worse, would they be afraid of her as she looked now?

As she mulled those possibilities and more over and over in her head, two young adults walked into the room, a brilliant red-headed woman wearing a white shirt and cargo pants and a dark-haired, pleasant man wearing a blue wind breaker over a green shirt and greyish jeans. "Hello, Olive."

Their calm reaction to seeing her let the tense and anxious emotions drain like water from her mind. Instead, she turned her attention to attempting to place in her memory the people standing at the foot of her bed. After a minute or two she asked, "Do...do I know you?"

Jean shook her head. "I don't think so. I'm Jean, and this is Kurt. We're the ones who found you injured. Grace told us not to go into details as they might cause more problems than solutions. She says that it would be best if you remembered on your own however, encouragement is most always a good factor."

"I see." Olive marked her place in the borrowed book and set it aside. "Are you friends of my family?"

"Afraid not."

"I see." She mumbled. "Grace brought in another therapist who specializes in hypnosis to try and recover more of my memory. The only thing we got was that I was recently involved in a traumatic event. It is no real discovery as I have been told earlier that that very reason is why I am here. She said that the shock from that moment most likely caused my amnesia." A moment's pause, "Do you know anything about it?"

Kurt nodded grimly. "Possibly. Again, Grace has counseled that we not divulge the details of what we know."

"Not even a hint? A tip to prompt a memory? Even just a word?" Their lack of reaction made her sigh again, shoulders drooped and head down.

Kurt pulled up a chair. "We could talk about other things that might prompt your memories." He sat on it backwards, making himself comfortable to lighten the vibe in the room. "What's your school like? Any extracurriculars?"

She smiled faintly as Jean sat cross-legged on the rolling stool Grace had utilized earlier. "I go to a private school. I'm in the chess club, on the girl's tennis team and on the swim team. Most of my classes are honors or AP."

Kurt whistled. "That's quite a lot to be involved in. How do you do it all and make time for your friends?"

"I don't have any friends, not outside of school related activities anyway. And I don't really compete. I'm not usually picked to compete against other schools. I'm there to practice against those that are good so they can get better. And while I improve in the process, I'm always just far enough behind to be looked over."

"That's a bit unfair."

"It doesn't really bother me. That's the kind of school that it is. It's got a reputation to protect to keep getting the money they demand for enrollment. It's very high-class."

"What about your family?" Jean asked.

"I don't remember. Grace asked the same question earlier. I don't have a father and my mom..." She stopped, furrowing her brow as new information came trickling into her mind. Information that she instantly knew came from the void dividing her memory from the amnesia. Her eyes saw nothing as she put to words what she was slowly piecing together. "My mom and I grew distant over the years after she married him. Our relationship became so thin and so devoid it was as if she was another person entirely. Something significant happened recently though. It drove the wedge between us even deeper. I didn't really care though. I had long accepted the fact that the likelihood of our relationship reversing its direction was far greater than a one-in-a-million chance. I still loved her though, because she took me in. She pulled me away from that awful orphanage, and made me feel wanted, like I belonged."

"Was that something you just remembered?" Kurt asked, his chin lifted from the backs of his hands where he'd put it after saddling the chair.

"Yes. And I remember that I am seventeen and not fifteen like I had thought earlier." She looked at him, smiling with not just her lips but, her whole face.

"That's great! See, you're making progress. I'm sure that when you regain enough of your memories, you'll be strong enough for your mind to allow you to remember the rest, namely the parts that we aren't allowed to talk to you about just yet."

Olive smiled, tilting her head slightly to the right. "Thank you, Kurt, Jean. That means a lot."

Jean switched her legs. "Have they mentioned anything about where you're going after they discharge you?"

"Not to me intentionally. But, I overheard the nurses outside talk about child services or something like it if no one comes to identify and/or claim me. And the way their talking it seems like I'll be discharged here in the next day or two with the instructions to continue psychotherapy and with arrangements to begin physical therapy in a few weeks. I'll be in a wheelchair until my right hand heals enough to use crutches. In all honesty, I'm not looking forward to any of it. I just wish this was all over and I could go back to what comprises as my 'normal' life."

"Why do you say that?" Jean asked.

Olive presented both arms to Jean, forearms up and her left palm pressed forward, a gesture that would have included both hands had her right one not been immobilized. "I definitely did not look like this before. I wasn't a mutant, a freak, before all this mess happened." Jean shook her head slightly, eyes downcast. She made to say something but, Kurt stopped her with a warning look: now was not the time.

Shaun poked his head into her room. "I'm sorry to say this but, visiting hours are over for those that aren't immediate family." He paused, then smiled. "From the sounds of it, you three were chatting it up." Olive smiled, replying, "It was a welcomed change of pace."

As they left the room, Kurt paused, "We'll be back tomorrow. Rest well." He ended by giving her a thumbs up. She continued to smile for a long while after they had left. Though they had just met, she felt like she had known them for years. It was a good feeling.


End file.
